I am from Pangburn, AR. From the polk salad, from the Comet in the bathtub and the Suave bubbles on your face looking like Santa.
I am from Hickory Flat… the smoked deer jerky, the mouthwatering catfish, the mulberry stains on your feet that just won’t go away.
I am from the honeysuckle, the muscadine so black you can just taste it.
I am from the fishing at the pond out back and the going crazy with Patsy Cline, from Machele and Aunt Sherry and the Fortsons.
I am from the moving on and the never looking back.
From the shut the door, you weren’t raised in a barn and the stars are twinkling because Daddy is dancing with Moses up in Heaven.
I am from the backwoods Southern Baptist. From the God-fearing, the bible thumping, and the fire and brimstone teachings.
I’m from the too far gone to be Southern, the squash-goulash and the potato soup.
From the don’t lie to your momma or you’ll taste her wrath, the hit your man in the head with a rock only to realize it was covering up the ring in the bottom of the box, and the making mud pies and feeding them to your brother.
I am from the cedar chest in the barn all turned to ash, the loved ones out at Henderson that we’ll never get back, the Indian trails we’d used to hike and tell of old ghosts, the heartache and memories that mean the most. I am from Arkansas and I’ll be damned to forget the moments I’ve lived and the people I’ve met.